Monday, August 24, 2015
Eternity: all at once, no sequence
or consequence--the “now” of be-
here-now. Size makes no never
mind nor is it about time and
time again. Simultaneous.
I accused my preacher dad of having a
monumental ego. “Yes, I do,” he said,
“but mine’s crucified.” Consummation
devoutly desired, no doubt. Dead, buried,
resurrected, born again & again.
On the psychiatric ward, after a shot
of thorazine to calm my mania, I lost
ability to speak for three days—no
mumbling words. Helen Kelleresque
if you don’t count sight and hearing.
Oh dear God! is what I still say soon
as my head hits the pillow. Prayer:
from Latin precari – precarious.
Please let me make my parents proud
is what I’d pray in middle school. And
for an English bike, too, 3 speeds.
That would be good.
Yesterday pre-dusk saw a couple deer
cross College View toward
Last night I crapped my pants trying
to make it to the john. Antibiotic my
wife suggests—side-effect. Reasons why.
A screech owl quavering last couple of
mornings as I get out of bed.
“Come and See” were the bible words
that provoked my old man into being
Christian. His calling. Came to him at
a student bible study group led by “Rip”
Van Winkle, provocateur: one of his
English pupils at
Years later: Rip’s daughter, Annie
Van Winkle at
for Oxford School
West Hartford, Connecticut
O dear God.
Miles Standish would provide the
answers to our 10th grade math tests,
him being smart and taking the
exams in 4th period right before my
5th. Called him “Dish.”
When we moved from
Hartford CT: peanut
butter and marshmallow sandwiches
were what 6th graders ate. First day
ever in a school cafeteria, someone
asked me to smell my cake and
pushed my nose in it.
We bought industrial staples and
heavy-duty rubber bands and shot
the street lights out of
Got into Yale on a legacy. Into
Duke with a handshake.
In the 40’s, my mother and the
Johnstown Presbyterian church
ladies boxed clothes to send to
down in the Farm School
upright piano at the drunk and
homeless shelter accompanying
my old man’s Sunday supper
sermons. “Brighten the Corner
Where You Are.” “Jesus wants me
for His Sunbeam.”
Teaching a class at NC State, I
began to weep while reading
“Self Reliance” to them. Sniffing
and snuffling the rest of the period.
Should have dismissed class but
made them witness my cognitive
and affective dissonance. Already
Me and my old man climbed Mt.
Pisgah together—looking East at
My first day ever as teacher ( 7th
grade at Buckingham Friends
School) one of the mothers walked
in looking for who’s-in-charge. Me,
I said. Her: “I thought you were one
of the students.”
I quit dean-ing and then had my
first panic attack. It suffers in
translation. To die for. Chrono-
logic on the one hand. Eternity
on the other.